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INDIA, The 63rd

My India, extend thy arms and hold me dear, 
Treasure in your lap, fill in me some sky and clasp me near,
The Himalayas, the Ganges, Godavary and the three seas,
Lay me down in eternity, 'neath the branching Banyan trees.
You've sheltered radiant light of the illuminated sages,
Since time immemorial, in dormancy you grew through the ages.
But now the time has come, that with forceful decree,
In the dawning era, we push ahead to a greater degree.
Yeshua seeked ancient wisdom and light inside the archaic walls of Nalanda,
India, you held to your Bosom the great Paramhansa and Vivekananda,
A crowned king Rama recovered the abducted Sita from the grasp of Ravan,
As maidens next danced to the flute of the heralding Krishna in Vrindavan,
The longest epic tale, the great battle of the Mahabharata he sighted,
During a marathon war to Arjuna in the battlefield, "Song of God" as he recited,
It still encloses vast hidden wisdom waiting to unfold in human form,
Hindus worship with utmost duty, serving compulsarily a legal norm.
India of the ages, tales several untold you have hidden in your ledges,
Siachen to Kanyakumari, people throng to pay their homages.
Winter, spring, summer and autumn, they bid for resplendent fetes,
Eid, Christmas, Diwali and Baisakhi, we await eagerly their dates.
Where independence is often termed dependence and integrity in oneness,
The Gorkha, Sikh and Rajputana regiments, as they prepare in alertness,
Over the borders, disturbances storm the Valleys of Jammu and Kashmir,
Braving the mist, snow and rains, armies struggle until sunspots reach a nadir.
In Science, Technology and Arts, the country has produced many a stalwarts,
While in strategy and governance, we tell apart Chanakya defend Machiavellian tarts.
A little dot expands into our universe, once upon a time said Aryabhatt,
Kalidasa churned out a heroic Bharata, a pristine Kadambari penned down Banabhatt.
Varahamihira, Bhaskaracharya, Bose and Raman, together they constellate,
Our Indian universe, however might we fall short to surrogate.
There is a silent storm in the Indian Ocean I hear now these days,
Kashmir to Kanyakumari and back, we've changed instead our ways,
The nation we resign to lay on the line, seems later then to be just fine.
We're poverty stricken, poor and backward, changes not our equation westward,
They tend to our nation a spiritual haven, so sins, miseries and nihilism all are forgiven,
No longer subjugated, suppressed and oppressed we remain in their buckle,
It's been a hard day's work, for two hundred years and more did we struggle,
Long ago a tryst with destiny we had made, thus into our 63rd year as we wade,
To the cradle of civilization we commit today, that we have our own obligations to pay.
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